


Arrow's Flight

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cupidlock, Just a whole lotta fluff really, M/M, True Love, Winglock, cupid's arrows, exchangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a Cupid that has fallen in love with his charge. He refuses to strike him, and risk losing him, until fellow Cupid, Stamford forces his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrow's Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Полет стрелы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574829) by [Hedwig221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig221b/pseuds/Hedwig221b)



> My exchangelock piece for Meetingyourmaker, who wanted cupidlock. It was fun to do a bit of archery practice to remind myself of the motions.

**March 12th**

John sipped his coffee, eyeing up the girl behind the counter. She smiled at him, her cheeks turning a charming shade of pink. John finished his drink and rose to toss the paper cup into the bin. Halfway to the counter to ask for her number, John forgot what he was going to do. He gave himself a shake, and left the cafe. 

** March 19th **

Staring down at two different samples of cheese, John rocked in place. One was an applewood smoked cheddar. The other was a wedge of havarti. 

“Get the cheddar,” a soft, warm voice murmured from his elbow. “It’s more versatile.” 

John turned and smiled, holding up the cheddar in a sort of salute. The young woman giggled brightly. John took a half step towards her to offer his hand, then dropped it in confusion. He put the cheese into his basket, and nodded his thanks before heading off to the checkout. 

** April 3rd **

“Six, corner pocket. Double or nothing?” 

John paced around the billiards table, chalking the end of his cue as he watched his opponent bend over. His round bum swayed from side to side, almost enough to distract John. 

Almost. 

With his lips curled into a grin, John deftly sank the ball. Then the three remaining. He stopped himself from crowing as he scooped up his winnings. He was partway to the gents when his opponent sidled up beside him. 

“One more round?” The man’s voice was rich. Silky. 

John rested a hand on his waist, and stepped close. Moments before he leaned down to brush a kiss over his lips, John straightened. Clearing his throat, he aimed the kiss for his opponent’s cheek. “Sorry, I’m going to stick with my winnings.” 

** April 15th **

“I’ve had such a shit day.” 

John hummed into his pint of beer. 

“I really need to unwind tonight.” 

John licked some foam off the corner of his mouth. 

“One more shot, and I’m going to be so giggly.” 

He rubbed his thumb through the condensation on the side of the glass, then sucked it clean. 

“For god’s sake. Do I need to be wearing a shirt that says I’m Lonely, Please Fuck Me ?” 

John looked up from his drink to the middle-aged blonde beside him. “Sorry, what?” 

** June 1st **

“You know this is cheating, right?” 

Sherlock scowled, and looked at Stamford. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to scowl louder. His wings furled out behind him in an attempt to look intimidating. It might have even worked, if they weren’t badly in need of grooming, with the fluffy white down puffed up. “How is it cheating?” 

Stamford began counting, tapping one of his fingers against the palm of his other hand with each point. “So far you’ve stopped him from having sex with the barista, the girl with the cheese, the young man with the bedroom eyes, the lonely housewife, the adventurous couple with the latex fetish, the history professor, and nine different people on the tube.” 

Turning from Stamford, Sherlock’s wings drooped slightly as he watched John. He was below them in the park, reading a book under the shade of a tree. People were jogging around him, walking their dogs, or playing games. John didn’t seem to notice any of them. 

“See? He’s not interested.” Sherlock gestured with the tip of one wing, refusing to unfold his arms. 

Beside him, Stamford rolled his eyes. “That’s because you haven’t given him a chance.” 

Lips pursed, Sherlock snapped his wings out and launched himself off the edge of the statue they had been perched on. His feet didn’t bend the grass as he walked across the open space. He knelt, taking his bow and quiver from his back. His fingers moved over the fletchings of each of his arrows, sorting through them. He ignored the red for love, and the single white arrow of true love. The quiver from his last charge had held three white arrows and it had taken Sherlock five years to find the recipients of them all. 

Drawing a pink arrow from the quiver, Sherlock licked the fletchings to straighten them. He nocked the arrow and carefully drew back the silver string until he reached his cheek. He breathed in slow through his nose, and released. The arrow struck John low in the belly. 

The man frowned at his book, as if it was starting to confuse him. He put it down and rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking around. His eyes lit on a man catching a rugby ball. John ran his tongue over his lips, and settled back to watch the rest of the game. 

Sherlock turned on his heel when John got up from the grass to approach the rugby player. As he passed Stamford, he hissed “Satisfied?” before launching himself into the air. 

** June 2nd **

“Jesus Christ, that was fucking incredible.” 

John laughed softly, and scrubbed the sweat from his face before tucking his arm behind his head. “It was,” he agreed, stretching himself out. Turning over, he kissed the side of the man’s neck, sliding his hand over his belly. “Interested in another round?” 

“God, I don’t think I could get it up a third time.” 

With a smirk, John stroked his fingers lower. “I can top again. I feel like I could go all night.” 

Groaning, John’s partner turned on his side and parted his thighs. “Let me nap. You can just put it between my legs for a while.” He was already nodding off, but he still tipped his hips up to give John better access. “Just...Nng, wake me up in a few hours, and we can go again. Fuckin’ machine.” 

Neither man could see the figure in corner, watching his handiwork with wet eyes. 

** July 7th **

“How has your doctor been faring?” Stamford gave Sherlock a cherubic smile as he groomed his wings. They were sitting together on the roof of the teaching hospital. Sherlock was there because John was inside to visit an old colleague. Stamford insisted he also had business there, but that he was in no rush. 

“He is  fine .” Sherlock muttered, pulling some loose feathers from his wings. He tucked them into his quiver, to make new arrows with. After a moment, his face softened. “He has taken to playing rugby in the park. It’s certainly entertaining to watch.” 

“Mm, I’m sure it is.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re joking, Sherlock.” Stamford looked up from where he was digging his fingers into his thick feathers. “I’ve never seen you this… obsessed with one of your charges.” 

“I’m not obsessed with him. I just find him interesting. Fascinating. He’s confusing, and that’s exciting.” 

Stamford gave his wings a shake before he stood. “Then you won’t mind that my business today is with John as well? Actually, his white arrow’s mate.” 

“No. Absolutely not.  No .” Sherlock jumped up as well. 

“What do you think you’re you doing?” 

“He can only take one arrow at a time.” He leapt from the edge of the roof, his wings snapping out to slow his descent. Sprinting through the hospital corridors, he made his way to one of the labs. 

John was smiling at a young woman while reading through the reports he had been given. Sherlock slammed into the lab, knocking the door back on its hinges. His bow was already in hand, and he was groping into his quiver for a pink arrow. Even the cheery orange of platonic affection would be better than watching John fall in love before his eyes.

“What… What in the hell?” John looked up with a laugh. “Did I miss an invite to a fancy dress party?”

As he was drawing the arrow back to his cheek, Sherlock realised that in his haste to mask the bow, he had forgotten to cloak his wings. Too busy to worry about it, Sherlock loosed the arrow. With a look of horror, Sherlock saw a white arrow fly, imbedding itself in John’s heart. “No! No no no no!” 

“Hey, easy, mate. It’s okay. I’m a doctor. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” John set down his files and crossed the lab. He caught the young man by the elbow and guided him to a stool to sit him down. “You look like you’re about to black out.” 

“Chest hurts,” Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his ribs. He looked down, and glared at the point of pain. 

“Okay, chest pain’s pretty damn serious. Let’s take a listen.” John took his stethoscope from around his neck and breathed on the diaphragm to warm it. He set it over Sherlock’s chest. His heart was beating fast, but it didn’t seem to be struggling. “What happened? Did you just have a scare?” John touched Sherlock’s soft curls, and tucked one of them behind his ear. 

At the tender caress, Sherlock’s eyes snapped wide. He turned in the stool to look back at the door of the lab. 

Stamford lifted his bow in a salute, the string still vibrating in the air. Wings shaking with mirth, he  nodded to Sherlock before he vanished. 

“Starting to feel a bit better?” John smiled, stroking his hand over Sherlock’s chest, his fingers passing through the white arrowhead that had passed through him. 

“B… Better, yes.” Sherlock’s lips curled up into a smile. “Much better, thank you.” 

Grinning, John slung his stethoscope around his neck again. “Those wings are brilliant work. How are they staying on? A harness?” 

“Ah. Interesting story, that.” 

** May 9th **

John ran his fingers over Sherlock’s wings, toying with the long white feathers. After a moment, he pressed his face between them, breathing in their warm, spicy scent. He kissed down Sherlock’s spine, turning his husband over onto his stomach as he went. When he reached Sherlock’s plump rump, John leaned over the edge of the bed. He groped on the floor, looking for something he had dropped there the night before. 

“John, love of my life, my dearest one, my reason for getting up in the morning, my one true love… If you poke me with a lust arrow again, I will strangle you with a pillowcase. I have three people to match today, and I’m exhausted from last night.” 

Sighing, John dropped the pink arrow and settled himself onto Sherlock’s back. 

“But that doesn’t mean you should stop preening me.” 

 


End file.
